The Fiance OR Deadly Genetics
by Miss FouroClock
Summary: Set after the Hogfather. Read the authors note for more context! Teatime returns to Ankh-Morpork to see Susan but finds things have changed, and Twyla and Gawain are starting to change in odd ways as well... T for what will happen later. :


AUTHOR'S NOTE: I am planning on writing a prequel to this, which details a romance that Susan Sto-Helit and Jonathon Teatime had after Hogfather—but at the moment I felt like writing this, so just know that they had a short relationship in which Teatime became very attached to Susan, but he left for a long time… (for reasons I haven't decide yet!) I know it starts off slow, but it will get more exciting. Please review; this is my first fanfic, so let me know if the anyone seem out of character, the plot moves too slowly... thanks! Disclaimer: I own none of these characters, I make no money, etc. etc.

CHAPTER ONE

In Which Teatime Returns

Susan flopped down onto the couch, sifting through the pile of drawings Twyla and Gawain had given her. They had just arrived back from a vacation in Quirm, during which they'd missed her greatly, and had drawn pictures for her everyday. It had gotten to be quite the formidable stack, and mostly of houses, but occasionally a horse made the odd appearance, or a dog. Susan sighed and continued to flip through the brightly colored illustrations, until she saw one that made her eyes widen and her hair curl.

It was a picture of her. She stood in the children's schoolroom, stick-figured body poised to throw a poker. A dark figure stood between the illustrated Susan and…

A curly-haired blonde man, one eye drawn in all black crayon, the other in the lightest blue. Her heart stopped for a second, and two thoughts went through her head.

_I wonder what their parents thought of this one!_

_TEATIME!_

Susan Sto-Helit had done a magnificent job of forgetting Jonathon Teatime. Now, whenever she saw a blonde, curly head on the street, she could walk by as calmly as if it were just another bogeyman. An Assassin's garb didn't put her into thrills of hope and anger anymore. And she could once again disarm a bogeyman or monster with a poker without remembering a similar thrown poker. Susan Sto-Helit had even gotten engaged.

Ironically, her fiancé was an Assassin. His name was K.W. Dobson. Susan usually just called him Dobson. She herself had no particular feelings for him—but he was the only person besides her grandfather she could stand since Teatime left. And he had proposed. So Susan saw no reason to say no (well, he was a bit old, but that was alright); Dobson would be happy, and she… well, she would have someone to talk to. And it wasn't as if she had ever been a great romantic.

Death's granddaughter sat on the couch, weak with remembering. A deluge of memories, most of curly blond hair and grace that defied physics, rained back down on her.

But she was Susan Sto-Helit, Death's granddaughter, and there was no way she could lose control now. The perfect self-control she had learned when it came to Teatime rid all thoughts of him from her mind. _Luckily,_ she thought to herself, _Twyla and Gawain are back—otherwise I'd be so bored. And boredom leads to unwelcome thoughts…_

The next day, she arrived at the Gaiters' home, poker underneath her overcoat and hair in a neat and prim bun.

"Thusan! Gueth what we thaw in Quirm? A big bogeyman dat said he was going to weat me up, but I…" An enthusiastic Twyla ran out to greet Susan. Her ingratiating lisp was back. Susan rolled her eyes.

_Ye gods, look what happens in only a week without me!_

"Twyla!" Susan snapped. "Lisping purposefully mocks a speech impediment that has nothing to do with being sweet and charming. Please stop immediately." Twyla looked up at her, unruffled.

"All right Susan. But we really did see a big bogeyman! I hit it over the head with a toasting fork."

"Good girl." The duchess and governess approved—Twyla was beginning to become a menace to the bogeyman community all by herself.

Susan nodded, carried into the house on a tide of cheer and rather disturbing stories about the games children in Quirm liked to play. In the middle of particularly graphic story about a game, which seemed, from what Twyla said, to involve an awful lot of biting and pushing. Twyla described it with starry eyes, until Gawain came over.

"Like this!" he shrieked mischievously, and chomped down hard on Twyla's arm. Twyla screamed and jumped away.

STOP THAT YOU LITTLE TWIT. Twyla said. For a brief second, Susan thought she had said it—but her brain told her, No, that was definitely not us. All three stood, stone still, until a grin spread across Twyla's previously shell-shocked face.

"Susan! I used the Voice! I used the Voice! Did you hear me Susan?" Twyla babbled. It took her a moment, but Susan managed to shake off the shock to say,

"Do. Not. EVER. Do. That. Again." She paused. "How DID you do that, Twyla? We know, er, thought, that only I could do the Voice?"

"I don't know, Susan. Honest. Are you mad?" Twyla asked, eyes wide.

"To tell you the truth, Twyla? I don't know. I think you and Gawain should go play somewhere else for a moment."

Later, when Susan was walking home to her own apartment, she was a shivering bundle of nerves. Her stomach was so upset it felt like _she _was the one who had been run through with a poker all those years ago. First, the damn picture of Teatime. Now, Twyla had used the Voice. Things like this never turned out well. Last time they had started happening, she had ended up riding a wild boar that had also been the Hogfather.

Tired of these frightfully… un-normal thoughts, Susan stopped into Biers.

"Thusan! It'th alwayth good to thee you here." Igor said to her kindly. He knew that Susan, who, while not the friendliest patron, usually only came when something was wrong, so he tried to be nice. Igor's heart was in the right place, if only metaphorically. In reality it was located somewhere near his right knee. Susan only grunted in reply.

Several unidentifiable drinks later, Susan was woozy, and had completely forgotten about Teatime and the Voice. She didn't even remember, as she stumbled into the night, that she had left her poker on her barstool at Biers.

But there was one thing she couldn't remember because she'd never seen it—the figure in the long, black cloak slipping out of Biers behind her.


End file.
